


The Song of the Kobolds

by LotusFlair



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Epistolary, Future Fic, Gen, Spoilers, Spoilers RQ Gaming 150, not entirely canon compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:41:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23107906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LotusFlair/pseuds/LotusFlair
Summary: An excerpt from the travelogue of Dr. Miwa Hayashi to her wife, Calista Barros, concerning her childhood on Okinoshima Island and her observations of kobolds and their songs.
Comments: 16
Kudos: 33





	The Song of the Kobolds

**Author's Note:**

> Miwa is an original character I created for a previous fic, Tangled in a Silver Braid.

My Dearest Calista,

Research has halted in our excavation of the temple while Dr. Stornsnasson negotiates with the Council of Cairo, which leaves me in a rather sorry state of boredom. So, to alleviate the mood, I thought I'd write you and provide you with yet another story to tell Raul at bedtime.

Did I ever tell you about Okinoshima Island? I thought I had, but sometimes I forget which stories I've shared from my childhood during the Blue Plague. My grandfather had an inn on the island and I was around seven when the tall man with eloquent words and the grumpy dwarf with magic legs arrived on our doorstep. The tall man, who I only later learned was Oscar Wilde, requested use of the inn as a base of operations for himself, the dwarf, and any additional operatives. My grandfather was reluctant to acquiesce, Mr. Wilde being a stranger, but it was explained to him how dire the situation was around the world and he quickly agreed as long as he could still keep the inn open for those in need. Mr. Wilde agreed to the terms and so the next year passed with him and the dwarf, Zolf was his name, researching and investigating the great plague and its connection to the Shoin Institute off the west coast of the island.

They were later joined by an Egyptian halfling in elegant clothes, a Kenyan orc with pink armor, and a half-elf with wild hair and potions, the fabled Alchemist from one of the nearby villages. One day they traveled on a haphazardly built boat out to Shoin's island and returned two days later with haunted eyes and a brain in a globe of water - but that's a story for another time. I suppose their expedition was fruitful though I remember there was a somber mood about the inn well after they returned. Zolf had been learning to cook from my uncle Kaito and I remember the sadness and anger in his eyes as he shaped rice in his large palms. He was the one who taught me to braid hair - did I not tell you that? He was very kind but very sad at times. I wonder if he ever found happiness.

It was roughly a week later that we heard the first song.

You won't find many books or scrolls that speak to the intricacies of kobold culture. Very few have bothered to investigate what makes their society function and thrive beyond the stereotype of draconic savagery. Even less have noted that kobolds sing. It isn't a song in the traditional sense. You won't find a soloist among them. They are a choir, a chorus, their songs strengthened and amplified with each voice added to their population, though I wouldn't learn about that until much later.

The first song was vibrant, though muted by the roar of the ocean and the swirling winds, but we could still hear it with some clarity. I did not know draconic at the time, but the halfling, Hamid Saleh Haroun al-Tahan, who you'll remember is one of the more supportive patrons of our archeological pursuits in Cairo, offered to translate for us. He said it was a song of triumph and a song of mourning. I asked him why they were singing. I asked why we hadn't heard them before. Mr. Tahan answered both questions, "Because they're finally free to do so."

Every year they sang. I could time it by the day, the hour, the minute. When I was a rebellious girl of about fifteen, well after the world was on the mend, I took a boat out to the ruins of the Shoin Institute on the day I knew they would sing again. The kobolds were not unknown entities to the island. The Alchemist regularly visited with supplies and equipment, so I knew they were amenable to conversation, at the very least. When I docked, there were kobolds on guard and after speaking to them for almost an hour and offering them the care packages I'd brought in anticipation of needing an incentive, they allowed me passage into their warren. My one and only request was to hear their song. Afterwards, I promised to leave and never return.

The ruins were as remarkable as they were terrifying, though I'd prefer to leave their description out of Raul's reach for as long as possible. It was, my love, a place of wickedness and cruelty. By the time I saw the innards of the seemingly innocuous lighthouse, the kobolds had torn it asunder and stripped it for whatever parts could be used or traded. I commend them to this day for showing as much restraint as they did. The blood splattered and smeared along the walls and floors was paltry compared to the trauma they'd suffered.

I remember the orc, a paladin of Aphrodite, waking half the inn when her nightmares of the facility reached their horrible conclusions. Mr. Tahan and Zolf often spent the remainder of those nights talking with her. I hugged her once when she came to the kitchen for a late breakfast. I believed, as most children do, that hugs and kisses contained the necessary magic to heal all wounds. And by that metric, my mother was the most powerful wizard on earth! The paladin, however, smiled sadly and returned the hug. Her nightmares continued for some time afterwards. It's hard for a child to understand the weight of evil and its rippling effects. I truly hope she found peace, or some reconciliation with those awful experiences.

I was brought to a platform overlooking a cavernous amphitheater. The kobolds were gathering in anticipation of their song and I could see them offering each other comfort and security as they moved about to greet one another. One of the kobolds who led me to the platform tapped me on the shoulder and handed me pen and paper. She said, at the behest of their Protector Skraak, that I was welcome to document their song and carry it with me as a gift for my family's hospitality and generosity over the years. I was dumbfounded and honored, which I'm sure you'd give anything to have seen on my face at such a tender age. I assure you, it was likely similar to the face I made when you asked me to marry you.

Not long after I was given those permissions, the song began. A kobold with crimson scales and sharp eyes smacked his tail against the cavern wall three times and by the time the last of the echoes subsided, the song began in earnest. It started with a quiet hissing and a rattling accompaniment for which I never found the source. Then there was the clattering of teeth and light chattering before they melded into a low hum that transformed into a deep melody. All the while, their tails kept a steady tempo that reverberated within the cavern. I felt it through the stone where I sat in quiet awe. I felt it in my heart as it attuned to their rhythm.

And then their voices rose, the typically harsh draconic now softened and mellifluous while entwined with the heavy beat of their composition. I know if you were with me you'd ask of what they sang. You're probably asking that very question out loud as you read these words. And now you're rolling your eyes at my clairvoyance. When I return home, hopefully in a few months, I'll show you the actual words. I'd rather not write them here since they are precious and to try and recall such intimate truths would do them a disservice. But I will tell you this.

They sang of family.

They sang of ignorance and survival.

They sang of lightning and storms.

They sang of Yoshida Shoin.

They sang of blood and a battle lost before it began.

They sang of violence and violation.

They sang of the enslaved and green eyes that stretched forever.

They sang of confusion and loneliness.

They sang of a thrall that lasted decades.

They sang of new arrivals; a dwarf with metal legs, an orc in glowing pink armor, the Other Alchemist, and a dragonling with manners and grace.

They sang of fire and destruction.

They sang of liberation.

They sang of revenge.

They sang of reunion.

They sang of ruins.

They sang of a debt repaid.

They sang of family and the future.

They sang of hope.

It was only when the song ended that I realized I'd been crying. I do apologize for the small water stains on the paper, love. Even recalling their song now reduces me to a blubbering mess, but I'm glad they do for happy tears are just as cathartic as those cried in anguish. When the kobold came to collect me and lead me out, I thanked her and passed along my sympathies and extended the invitation to the inn for whenever they were in need. Isamu has never forgiven me for that kindness, though I hear the inn is thriving just fine according to my sister-in-law.

I chanced a look back into the cavern and caught the crimson scaled kobold watching me as well. I suspected he was the aforementioned Protector Skraak. He smiled and bowed. I returned the gesture and left without another word. When I arrived back at the inn, I ran into my mother's arms and hugged her tightly and whispered a silent prayer of thanks that she was alive and close at hand. I do the same for you and our son, everyday, even when I'm not with you though I long to be.

It's not the most exciting story, I know, nor does it have a particularly satisfying conclusion. Raul is a smart boy, however, and I'm sure he'll understand the inherent value of his mother's ramblings. He gets that from you.

Well, I'd best be off. Tjelvar has returned and I can already hear him arguing with that idiot, Carter. I'll let you know if plans change for my return in the Spring, but I cannot wait to wrap you and our boy in my arms. It's been too long and I miss you two so very much.

All my Love,

Miwa


End file.
